Dreaming of Rain
by Dannyblue
Summary: Set late in the first season. Cordelia worries as Angel broods. (CA)


**Title:** Dreaming of Rain  
**Author:** Dannyblue  
**Email: **dannyblue2@yahoo.com  
**Rating****: PG-13  
**Content:** C/A  
**Summary:** Set late in the first season. Cordelia worries as Angel broods.  
**Spoilers:** None really.   
**Disclaimer:** The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.  
**Distribution:** All you have to do is ask.  
**Feedback:** Please and thank you.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Angel!" Cordelia called into her boss's office. "I'm using your shower!" Then, she promptly went back to clearing off her desk for the day.  
  
It wasn't long before Angel appeared in the doorway, melting out of the shadows of his inner sanctum. "Are you asking or telling?"  
  
"Telling," she informed him cheerfully, even as she studied him with slightly narrowed eyes. Angel only did that vampy, skulky, melting-out-of-the-shadows thing when he was in a mood, and he was definitely in the mood today. Ever since he'd come up from his apartment, he'd been locked away in his office. Well, except for the 'locked away' part. He'd actually left the door open between the two rooms, which she supposed was some kind of growth.  
  
Anyway, he'd been in his heavily-curtained office all day, basically sitting in the dark. He said he was researching their latest case. And, yes, there was an old, dusty book open on his desk. But Cordelia knew a good brood when she saw one.  
  
_Just look at him,_ she thought now. _Grim, stony face.__ Hunched shoulders. Black clothes managing to look a shade more black than usual. Yep, that's definitely brood._  
  
And no telling what it was about. The man could brood about anything. Dusting a vamp he'd known back in the powdered-wig days. Getting a call from a little town a few hours away that would remain nameless. And, believe it or not, Goths. Teens and twenty-ans wanting to be vampires really bothered him. For obvious reasons.  
  
As she dropped the last pen into the pencil holder, she gave him her brightest smile. "After all," she said, smoothly continuing the conversation, "you were the one who decided to pull a slave-driver and make me work late."  
  
Frowning--which was at least a change from stony face--Angel folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the door jam. "I didn't make..."  
  
"If I have to run home to shower and change," she interrupted, "I'll never make it to the restaurant on time. And Tom seems to have this _thing_ about people being late." Rolling her eyes, Cordy tried to remember what she liked about the guy.   
  
Yes he was cute, and gainfully employed, and seemed to have a fashion sense that rivaled her own. At first glance, he was quite the catch. It wasn't until after she accepted the date that she realized how particular he was. _I mean, please! Telling me what color dress he thought I should wear? What was that about?_  
  
She had hopes that, over dinner, she'd find enough pros to outweigh the cons. They weren't high hopes, but they were hopes.  
  
"You can use the shower," Angel said as he pushed away from the door jam. "But I don't think I have anything you'd..."  
  
"It's covered." Bending in her seat, Cordy pulled out the overnight bag she had stashed under the desk. "I figured that, with a new case, Wesley out doing leg-work, and your computer-phobia, I'd be here late. So I brought some stuff just in case." Holding up her wrist, she squinted at an imaginary watch. "And look! It's 'just in case' p.m."  
  
After a moment, she was rewarded by the tiniest glimmer of a smile.  
  
_Well,_ she thought with a quiet sigh. _I'm not a miracle worker. Or a comedian._  
  
Standing, she slung the strap of the overnight bag over her shoulder. "Thanks, boss."  
  
With a barely perceptible nod, Angel turned and disappeared into the darkness of his office.  
  
___________________________________  
  
He stood outside the bathroom door, still as the shadows that filled the tiny hallway, listening to the shower, like rain falling on concrete. She was humming. She couldn't carry a tune worth a dam but, to his hungry ears, it was honey and sweet, and his body hummed right along.   
  
Taking a breath he didn't need, holding it in, he stepped closer to the door. He closed his eyes, and it wasn't hard to imagine. The cascade of water flowing over her. Beads of moisture trailing down her skin, like tear drops falling down her thighs, between her breasts. Trickling down the slender column of her neck.  
  
That was one of the dreams. She's in the shower, in a bathroom lit by candlelight. And he slides inside, so quiet she never knows until his hand touches her warm, wet back. And it isn't long before he's wet too, and the teardrops trailing down her skin are tinted red.  
  
Letting that breath out in one long, hard rush, he ran a hand across his face. There was a sketch pad filled with nothing but that dream. Every moment. Every detail. Every inch of her.  
  
Suddenly, the pitch of the shower changed. And the pitch of her humming seemed to change along with it. Softer. Slower. Deeper.  
  
Warmth spread through him, settled low in his stomach, making it clench. Without thinking, he pressed his hand against his abdomen, which suddenly felt rock hard.  
  
He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, carefully turning so it wouldn't make a sound. Just a soft click. And he let the door open an inch, maybe more.  
  
Steam drifted into the hallway, surrounding him with moisture and heat. And he could smell her on the air. The sweetness of vanilla. The spice of some exotic flower. And, above it all, her. And he imagined the scent of arousal was there too. That, somehow, she knew he was there. That she wanted him to be there. That the thought of him coming inside, running his hands across her naked skin, excited her...  
  
Suddenly, the sound of the shower stopped. And he didn't run, didn't scurry away like some shamed creature afraid of being caught. He stayed there, eyes closed, hand still wrapped around the doorknob. Waiting, like a wire stretched razor tight. Letting himself stay in that delicious moment when even he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do.   
  
He knew how long she'd be in there getting ready. But what if she wasn't. What if the door suddenly opened, and she stepped out, startled to find him there? She'd know he'd been listening. She'd know what he was thinking. No more secrets to hide. And it would be like the other dreams, like the one he'd had last night. Hard, burning dreams where she's screaming and screaming, and every scream made him drive deep, bite harder. Dreams filled with darkness, and pain, and blood, and pleasure so exquisite, he almost couldn't imagine it. Pleasure that reaches its peak when his blood flows into her...  
  
Suddenly, there was a sound from above. A door opening. A cultured, British voice calling out, "Angel? Cordelia?"  
  
He glared at the ceiling, lips drawn back to reveal fangs, a soft growl escaping before he could stop it. And it was several moments before he found the control to ease the door shut.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
After one more lipstick check, Cordelia closed her compact with a snap. "Okay, I'm outie."  
  
"Hmmm?" Wesley mumbled. Pulling his attention away from his book, he glanced up at her. "Oh, of course. See you tomorrow."  
  
"Good night," a quieter, more reserved voice said.  
  
Cordelia glanced over at Angel. He was at his usual post, in the doorway of his office. And, if anything, he looked even moodier than he had before.  
  
Resisting the urge to shake her head, Cordy picked her purse up from the desk. She reminded herself that this was typical of Angel. Once a week or so, he liked to do a good, twenty-four hour brood. For those twenty-four hours, he resisted all attempts to cheer him up. But, by tomorrow morning, he'd be back to normal. Or what passed for normal for him.  
  
"'Bye, guys." Giving her boss one last, cheerful smile, Cordelia left for her dinner date.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
"Angel," Wesley said, turning a page in the book. "I just found something very interesting that you might..."  
  
"I'm going out," the vampire said abruptly. Ignoring Wesley's startled surprise, he went to the coat wrack.  
  
"O-oh," the former Watcher stammered. He pushed his glasses further up his nose. "W-well, I suppose I c-could..."  
  
"I have my cell," Angel interrupted again. Never looking at his employee, he put on his black duster. "Call me if anything comes up." Not bothering to wait for a response, he left the office.   
  
And, as he walked to his car, he tried to remember the name of the restaurant where Cordelia was meeting her date.  
  
  
  
**THE END** **


End file.
